Kari groans. “Do not call him that. I’ll never be able to look at him the same.”
“Too late,” Lola says. “I think it suits him, don’t you Darbs?”
Heat creeps into my cheeks, and I pretend to study the salsa options while my brain replays the way Greg reacted when I pushed his buttons. Like he expected it and was entirely too aware of every word I said.
I grab a tortilla chip from the basket and stuff it in my mouth, giving me time to think before I speak. Something I’m not typically known for. Flirting is easy for me. It’s muscle memory. I banter with baristas, bartenders, and cashiers because it’s fun and harmless.
But I’m not entirely sure flirting with Greg was the same. Fun, yes. Harmless, I’m not so sure.
“Darbs,” Lola says, narrowing her eyes. “What is that look?”
“What look?” I bat my eyes innocently.
“The one where you pretend you’re listening, but your soul is somewhere else,” Kari says.
“Oh, my soul is definitely right here.” I grab another chip and stuff it in my mouth, mumbling as I chew. “With queso.”
“Sure it is,” Gabby raises an eyebrow.
But before the inquisition can get underway, the server arrives to take our drink orders. It’s margaritas all around, except for Kari. She mentions saving her alcohol ration for the wine and charcuterie board she and Grey plan on making tonight.
It flips a switch inside me, reminding me of the domestic bliss they all enjoy and I’m missing out on. I love them all, but as I sit among them with their engagement rings, wedding bands and glowing faces, that feeling of being left out tightens my chest.
I take a long sip when my drink arrives, letting the tartness bite my tongue, and focus on the restaurant noise instead. I’m fine. Really. I’m not that lonely. Mostly.
“He was into you,” Maggie says unexpectedly.
I choke on my drink. “What?”
“Oh, absolutely,” Lola adds.
“He gave you his number,” Rumer says. “That should tell you something.”
“That was for plant emergencies,” I wave a hand as if it were nothing and take another sip of my drink.
“Was it though?” Kari nudges me.
I open my mouth to protest and then close it again, because no matter what I say, they’ll prove me wrong. Or right. Oh, heck. I don’t know if Greg’s interested or was just being polite.
“Did anyone else get his number?” Maggie searches through her purse like she’s on a mission. She pulls out the plant care instructions and flips the paper back and forth. “Nope, not on mine. How about you, Lola? Anything?”
“Oh, babe, Logan would throttle any man with enough gall to give me their number.” She grabs a chip from the basket. “Gotta love a protective man.”
“Cheers to that,” Rumer says, and we all clink glasses.
“So,” Kari nudges me. “Are you going to call him?”
Everyone watches me expectantly. An uncomfortable knot forms in my stomach. Not because they’re putting me on the spot, but what if Greg doesn’t want to hear from me? What if he was just being polite? And if he isn’t interested, I’ll have to admit that to these women I love. They’ll be supportive and sympathetic, full of well-meaning encouragement.
But I don’t want pity. I just want to belong. To still be part of the group, in on the private jokes, and be excited about dinner plans and outings that aren’t first dates.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, not wanting to jinx the what ifs and maybes.
Greg
I’ve spent the last few hours fiddling over the hybrid rose, scribbling readings in my notebook. The greenhouse door opens and closes, but not a footstep to be heard. I finally look up and catch my brother, Ace, shaking his head.
“Surprised you haven’t built a bubble around that thing,” he says, amused.
